


British Psycho

by 90snjh



Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), Midnight Memories - One Direction (Music Video), Night Changes - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Asshole Harry, Asshole Louis, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Businessman Harry, Businessman Liam, Businessman Louis, Businessman Niall, Cocaine, Crazy Harry, Drinking, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Murder, New York, Oral Sex, Rich Harry, Rich Liam, Rich Louis, Rich Niall, Rich Zayn, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Workplace, Workplace Sex, businessman Zayn, everyones an asshole though, this whole story is fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/90snjh/pseuds/90snjh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spin-off to the book written by Brett Ellis.</p>
<p>A wealthy, young, England-born investment banking executive in New York hides his alternate psychopathic ego from his co-workers and friends as he escalates deeper into his illogical, gratuitous fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Morning Routine

His name is Harry Styles. He's only twenty-one and works as a specialist in mergers and acquisitions at the Wall Street investment firm of Pierce & Pierce. He lives in the American Garden Buildings on West Eighty-First Street. Tom Cruise lives in the penthouse on the eleventh floor.

His apartment is shined on by the early morning light. A huge white living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, decorated in expensive, minimalist high style: bleached oak floors, a huge white sofa, a large Baselitz painting (in which is hung upside down), and much expensive electronic equipment. The room is impeccably neat and oddly impersonal - as if it had sprung straight from the pages of a design magazine.

The mornings are his favorite part of the day, walking into his bathroom and urinating while trying to see his reflection in the poster for Les Miserables above his toilet. He believes in taking care of himself, in a balanced diet, in a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if his face is a little puffy, he'll put on an ice pack while doing his stomach crunches. _He can do a thousand now._

In his mirror-lined bathroom, he luxuriates in the shower steam; scrubbing his body and admiring his muscles. After he removes his ice pack, he uses a deep pore-cleanser lotion. In the shower, he uses a water-activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Once he leaves the shower, he stands in front of his massive marble sink and applies an herb mint gel facial masque, in which he leaves on for ten minutes as he prepares the rest of his routine. He stares into the mirror once the masque had dried on his face which has given him a strange, distorted look; as if his face had been wrapped in plastic, he proceeds to tear off the masque...slowly, stretching the substance.

There is an idea of Harry Styles, some sort of abstraction, hence there is no real him, only an entity, only an illusory, and though he can hold his cold gaze and shake your hand and you will feel flesh gripping yours and you think for a second that maybe your lifestyle is somewhat comparable to his own: he is simply not there.

...

Dressed in silk boxer shorts, Styles stands in front of his huge walk-in closet, filled with rows and rows of expensive shirts, shoes and designer suits.

His bedroom isn't much different from the rest of his apartment. It's another huge white room: a futon, rumpled white sheets, a bedside lamp with a halogen bulb, and a large expensive painting chosen by Harry's interior decorator. It is hard for him to make sense on any given level. His self is fabricated, an aberration. His personality is sketchy and unformed, his unheartlessness goes deep and is persistent. His conscience, his pity, his hopes disappeared a long time ago, if they ever did exist.

As he stands in front of the full body mirror and adjusts his white dress shirt (always unbuttoned to his lower chest), which he tucks into his dressy skinny jeans, complimented by a black leather belt topped with a black suit jacket and skinny scarf around his neck, which droops down the opening of his shirt. He stares at his shoes, turning his left foot inwards slightly and notices a slight scuff on the outer side of his black leather boot, but is running late and can't be bothered to change so he brushes it off with a sigh. As far as that, he likes what he sees, gives his reflection a smile, and is off to work.


	2. Chapter 1: Stained

" _What do you mean you can't clean my sheets_."

 The brunette man seethed, standing in the middle of the dry cleaners in a two piece red-striped Lanvin suit with an unlit cigar between his teeth and nothing but a look of pure anger on his pale face.

 

"Listen, wait. You're not...shhh... _wait_...you're not giving me valid reasons." He tried so hard to speak over the chirping Chinese lady, whose husband stood right next to her. She continued to speak in another language, grabbing at the sleeve of his coat before he was quick to tug away and brush off where her small hand had touched, "What are you trying to _say_ to me?"

 

The woman's husband took the sheets out of the bag, observing the horrible blood-stained material as she continued to bock away.

 

"Bleach-ee? Are you trying to say bleach-ee? Bleach-ee. Oh my god." The fed up man ran a hand back through his boyish curls, turning away from the scene for a moment in an attempt to collect himself. "You're not- you can't- okay. Two things- listen...listen to me! _Two_ things. One. You cannot _bleach_ a Soprani. Out of the question. Two- TWO. I can only get these sheets in Santa Fe. These are very expensive sheets and I _really_ need them clean." Completely ignored. The woman continued to speak in a language he couldn't understand for the life of him. He was quick to lean close to the lady, " _If you don't shut your fucking mouth I will kill you, are you understanding me?_ "

 

The lady pulled away with wide eyes, only to begin talking faster.

 

"Listen. I cannot _understand_ you." He raised his voice, letting out a laugh while on the verge of tears, slamming his hands down on the counter, "This is crazy. You're a fool! I can't cope with this." He spoke with his head hung between his shoulders as the lady seemed to be only getting louder, "Stupid bitch-ee! Understand? Oh Christ!" He rubbed at his face, hearing a chime from the door behind him.

 

"Harry?" A feminine voice spoke from behind the scene, only to catch his attention immediately, having him wipe his eyes before turning around with a fake smile, "Hi, Harry. I thought it was you." She chirped.

 

Fuck. Now wasn't the time. Harry just couldn't get rid of her. He fucked her once, maybe twice. He thought slamming the door closed on her after cumming the hardest he ever had in his life would've got the message through that he didn't want to hear from her ever again. Obviously not.

 

"Hello! Darling, hello." He threw his arms out in front of him with a huge smile, mumbling an incomprehensible name afterwards and hoped it was hers.

 

"Isn't it ridiculous? Coming all the way up here, but you know, they really are the best." The blonde girl spoke up with a smile, placing her expensive-looking coat on the counter to be cleaned.

 

"Then why can't they get these stains out? I mean can you talk to these people or something? I'm not getting anywhere."

 

The young girl moved forward to the husband holding up the stained sheets, she touched it slightly before the Chinese lady began talking again, "Oh my. What is this?"

 

Harry could've sworn he just swallowed a rock, taking the unlit cigar from his lips and placing it in between two fingers, "Um, well...it's cranberry juice. Cranapple." She only stared at him skeptically, " Well, I mean, um...it's really Bosco. You know, like...like a Dove Bar. It's a Dove Bar...Hershey's Syrup?"

 

There was a moment of silence before the girl broke into an obnoxious laughing session that startled Harry, "Oh yeah, I get it. Fun with chocolate." She wiggled her eyebrows just slightly as if telling a joke but Harry was highly unamused.

 

"Well, this was nice, if you could just-" He yanked the sheets from the husbands hands, "talk to them please. I'm late for a lunch appointment. I have to be at Hubert's in fifteen minutes." The brunette turned to leave before...

 

"Hubert's? It moved uptown, right?"

 

"Yes, well, oh boy, listen, I've got to go. Thank you...uh...Victoria?" He guessed her name.

 

"Maybe we could have lunch sometime next week?"

 

Harry checked his watch, "Saturday?" He paused as the girl nodded hopefully, "Oh, I can't, I'm afraid. I have a Matinèe of Les Miserables. Listen, I've really got to go-  _Oh Christ_...this was wonderful. I'll call you."

 

"Do." She chirped, waving to Harry as he swept out the door with one last glare to the couple behind the counter, then continuing down the street.

 

 

-

 

"The food here is absolutely horrendous, who chose this place?" Harry muttered, stabbing at a herbed French fry.

 

 

" _You_ did, Harry."

 

Harry glanced up at where the voice had come from, it was his coworker or...semi-friend, non-surprisingly in a lower level of work, Louis. That man always had something to say about something else; could never keep anything to himself. Harry let out a sigh as he untucked his napkin from his dress shirt, it looked ridiculous and no one else was doing it, throwing the fabric on top of the table before standing up, "Excuse me."

 

He didn't waste any time getting up from the table, leaving the plate of his tiny, elaborately decorated entrée, curling a finger at his other coworker, who would be more of a friend to Harry, hoping he'd get the message and follow him, as he did. They both pushed their way past waiters and tables, making their way to the men's room before Harry opened the door and stopped in the middle of the empty, surprisingly clean, restroom.

 

"What is it?" The thick Irish accent of his friend spoke, Niall was his name.

 

" _Sheesh_. You told me this place would have a good restroom to do coke in, you weren't kidding." Harry commented, digging in his tight pants pocket and pulling out a tiny bag of coke, opening it in front of his friends baby blue eyes.

 

"Jesus, that's not a helluva lot is it?" The Irishman spoke up, looking at the packet as if he were disgusted.

 

"Maybe it's just the light." Harry frowned as he tried to get a better look at the bag.

 

He watched as Niall dug out his Amex card and carefully dipped the corner of it into the bag, "Is he selling it by the fucking milligram?" He snorts the small amount, "Oh my god..."

 

"What? What is it?" Harry questioned grumpily, Niall was the absolute worst person to do coke with. He was a nice guy, one of the only guys Harry could stand to be around, but when it came to his high the man was so picky about the whole thing.

 

"It's a fucking milligram of sweet 'n low!" Niall complained, throwing his hands up in the air.

 

Harry frowned before dipping his Amex card in the envelope and snorting, "It's definitely weak, but I have a feeling if we do enough of it we'll be okay."

 

"I want to get _high_ off this; Styles, not sprinkle it over my fucking corn flakes." Niall spat, before a man came out of a stall, buckling his belt while clearing his throat and glancing at the two of them.

 

Harry just looked the man up and down, turning back to Niall before nodding slightly. They both proceeded to dip their platinum Amex cards into the white powder, shoveling it down their noses, then sticking their fingers in to catch some of the residue, rubbing it into their gums.

 

...

 

Back at the table, Harry's friends and himself all look and behave in a remarkably similar fashion, but there is a subtle difference between them. Tomlinson is the biggest asshole. Payne is the yes man. Horan is the most wired. Harry thinks he's the best looking. They all have light tans, all except Niall who only burned and never tanned. Harry has been in a bad mood the whole time he's been here because the table they are sat at isn't very good.

 

Louis stared down a retreating waiter, frowning slightly and narrowing his eyes, "Did he just take our plates away?"

 

Liam finished swallowing his champagne before speaking up, "He took them away because the portions are so small he probably thought we were finished. God, I hate this place. This is a chicks restaurant, why aren't we at Dorias?"

 

"Because Styles won't give the maitre d' head." Louis bellowed, only to have a swizzle stick flicked at him by Harry. Harry watched Louis' eyes scan over the room after he sat back in his chair, a small grin still plastered on his face from his previous joke. His eyes landed on a handsome, young man with slicked-back hair and horn-rimmed glasses. "Is that Reed Robinson over there?"

 

The men all looked over their shoulders, not even attempting to make it look nonchalant before turning back around, "Are you freebasing or what? That's not Robinson." Niall spoke up, playing with his napkin and shaking his leg underneath the table. Wired.

 

"Who is it then?"

 

"That's _Zayn Malik_." Niall made clear.

 

"That's not Zayn Malik. Zayn Malik's on the other side of the room. _Over there._ " Harry tilted his head up slightly to gesture towards the way of another man with slicked-back hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

 

Once again, they all turn their heads.

 

-

 

In the limo, Harry pours vintage champagne into flutes as Niall lights up a cigar. The limo is nearly at the ground and they're all sitting with their knees in their almost impaling their chests.

 

"Last week I picked up this Vasaar chick-"

 

"Oh God, I was there. I don't need to hear this story again." Liam groaned, reaching for the flute of champagne Harry was handing to him, "Thank you."

 

"But I never told you what happened _afterwards_." Louis snapped, "So, okay. I pick up this Vasaar chick at Tunnel - hot number, big tits, great legs, this chick was a little hardbody- and so I buy her a couple of champagne kirs and she's in the city on spring break, okay, so she's practically _blowing_ me in the Chandelier room and so I take her back to my place-"

 

"Whoa, wait. May I ask where your girlfriend is during all of this?" Harry interrupted, with Louis staring at him as if he was still speaking.

 

"Oh fuck you. I wanted a _blowjob_ , Styles. I wanted a chick who was gonna make me-"

 

"I don't want to hear this." Liam interrupted, placing his hands over his ears, "He's going to say something disgusting."

 

"You prude. Listen, we're not gonna invest in co-op together or jet down to Saint Bart's. I just wanted a chick whose face I can sit on for thirty, forty minutes." Louis defended himself.

 

"I'm bored with this story already." Niall voiced from the other side of the limo as Liam threw a cigar at Louis, who caught it as if he knew it was coming.

 

"Anyways," Louis continued, pausing for a moment to make sure everyone was listening, "We're back at my place and listen to this," He leans forward in his seat, "She's had enough champagne by now to get a fucking rhino tipsy and get this-"

 

"She let you fuck her without a condom?" Liam took a guess, interrupting yet again.

 

"This is a _Vassar_ girl. She's not from Queens. She would only- are you ready?" Louis took a dramatic pause but if anything he was just losing whatever interest they had left, "She would only give me a handjob, and get this...she kept her glove on."

 

All the men whipped their heads up to look at Louis, searching his face for any sign of him joking during the shocked, horrified silence.

 

"Never date a Vasaar girl." They all spoke in unison.

 

...

 

The limo had came to a rolling stop next to a sidewalk by the Tunnel and the men put their glasses back while the driver made his way around the long vehicle to open the door for them. Tomlinson was the first one out, then Payne, then Horan and finally Styles.

 

Louis holds open the door for a passing homeless man who looked well over confused. "I suppose he doesn't want the car. Horan, ask him if he takes American Express."

 

Niall offered the homeless man his card, "You take Amex, dude?" He questions as the man just stumbles away and Harry elbows his shoulder while giving Louis a glare.

 

The club doorman sees the limousine and immediately unhooks the velvet rope and welcomes them inside.

 

"Let's find us some Vasaar girls." Payne teased as Louis pretended to go for his throat.

 

"Let's get this _over_ with." Harry murmured, walking inside of the club and immediately being hit with the smell of sweaty bodies. Hopefully they wouldn't have to stay too long.


End file.
